


Lynch is a synonym for havoc

by StormysHealthyCopingMechanisms



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam's magic is still alive, Declan and Ronan don't know how to play nice, I'll get there, M/M, Matthew's a cutie patootie, Parrish's new fam, Spoilers for the series, Swearing, bait and switch, but so is something else, lynch brothers, mental health problems? potentially?, not enough fluff, or anything, probably OOC I've been awol for a while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 11:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12107451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormysHealthyCopingMechanisms/pseuds/StormysHealthyCopingMechanisms
Summary: Ronan misses an emergency call from Adam, and he calls in Matthew to help. When Matthew delegates responsibility to Declan, Ronan doesn't know if he's going to have a bloodbath on his hands or an uneasy truce by the time the situation is resolved.Or, the Lynch brothers negotiate Parrish's role in the family and become supernatural mystery hunters.





	Lynch is a synonym for havoc

Declan was the first one who knew.

Ronan pretended that he didn’t. It was difficult to tell in the midst of so much anger and secrecy, hidden and embroiled amongst Declan’s compulsive lies and unnecessary cruelty, so Ronan just pretended he didn’t know.

Ronan had forgiven him for most of that. Or, he tried to. Consciously roping in some of the habitual anger when Declan was mentioned or when he called, reminding himself that Declan loved Matthew as much as Ronan did. Declan loved Ronan. It was understandable that his resentment grew like thorny vines over any potential affection he could have expressed, fed by and counterfeeding Ronan’s own rage. It was understandable, and for Matthew’s sake, Ronan was trying to view it as forgivable.

Trying to figure out which secrets Declan knew or acted as though he knew about Ronan was a pointless process, one Ronan had given up pretty quickly amidst sinking misery and increasing torment. He relied on the knowledge that Declan was too ashamed of the things he knew about Ronan to actively use them against him. And so it went on…

Then Declan revealed he knew about the dreaming.

Declan knew about everything.

And Ronan knew, as he’d always known, that Declan knew about him. How many times… how many people, including Declan, including himself, had used those words against him. “ _I know what you are._ ” For Ronan the implications were vast and tangled, repeated and refracted endlessly like through fragments of a mirror. But Ronan had always used Adam against Declan, in a perverse, masochistic way. How far could he push Declan before he snapped, even if it would have destroyed Ronan at the same time? Even while he ignored Declan’s knowledge, he relied on instinct to use it to screw with him.

It didn’t need to matter anymore, with Declan out of the way in D.C., taking care of Matthew and doing his own thing.Ronan couldn’t muster any concern about it, really, because Declan had relinquished him too. He’d taken what he loved of the family and let the rest go. Which left Ronan with the Barns and his dreams and his memories of childhood, and Adam.

Declan could never have stood between Ronan and Adam the way he thought he could.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

 

 

 

When Ronan’s phone rang, he didn’t pick up.

Partly, this was habit. Mostly, it was because he’d left it on the kitchen counter when he’d sauntered out to work in the fields that morning.

So when Opal padded out to him with her fine, pale fingers closed around his phone, after a chill had already set in and Ronan’s fingers were prickling from carting hay and tidying out one of the far barns (he’d found a neat miniature tractor he thought he vaguely recalled Matthew driving around when he was eight) he was genuinely alarmed to discover he’d missed three calls from Parrish.

Three was Parrish’s number.

Parrish mumbled words three times. _“Chandrasekhar, Chandrasekhar, Chandrasekhar.”_ He would trace patterns of threes on surfaces, draw them on his notebooks. Straight lines, or an infinity symbol with an extra loop, or plants with three leaves or three flowers. He knocked on a door three times. He would tap his fingers on a table three times. He’d call out for Opal three times before giving up.

He’d call once if he wanted to annoy Ronan, twice if he needed to talk to him about something important, and three times if the apocalypse was imminent.

Parrish never called more than three times (although he’d only called three times once since he’d moved to D.C. and it was to tell Ronan that Opal had smuggled herself into the back of the car and not to worry because he was on his way back right now).

Ronan called him back. His phone rang, and rang, and rang, and Ronan wondered what he was feeling.

Not panic. Not yet. Cautiousness. Like he might be about to hear something he wasn’t going to be able to deal with. But Opal was untying his laces and tying them back up again, so he waited.

It rang, and rang, and rang out.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it uncomprehendingly.

It was foolish. Adam didn’t really talk on the phone much either. He was always in a lecture, going to a lecture, in a laboratory, working or trying to sneak some sleep. But today, Ronan felt like it was a personal slight that his phone had let him down.

 _Jesus, Parrish_.

He packed up and walked back towards the house, letting Opal run in increasingly agitated circles around him.

He didn’t panic. He refused to panic. Christ, he wasn’t Parrish’s babysitter. He wasn’t _Gansey_.

Opal took his phone away from him several times to check it, as though she didn’t trust his management of it. He hissed at her each time, and she reluctantly gave it back, but some part of him was hoping that she’d work some kind of magic and prompt it to ring.

Ideas started to trickle in. Parrish’s lack of sleep. Native dangers of D.C. That shitbox car. His stress problems. His ever-present strangeness.

Ronan fumbled the phone out of his pocket again as he wandered into the house, and thought idly about the beer in his fridge. He laid it face-down on the table and grimaced when Opal immediately snatched it up.

She dialled the number again, fidgeted as it rang out, and dialled it again. And again. And again.

Part of Ronan’s brain focused on the task of blaming her for this embarrassing torrent of missed calls later on.

She was racking up the calls, and Ronan finally forced out a frustrated wheeze and grabbed the phone. ‘Give me that.’

He called Matthew.

‘Bro, it’s last period.’

‘Then why’d you pick up?’ Ronan snapped irritably.

Matthew made a noise which suggested he was smiling into the phone in a carefree manner. ‘Whaddya want?’

‘I want you to go see Parrish after school.’

This was a terrible idea. Parrish was probably asleep, and Matthew would show up uninvited and announce that Ronan had his panties in a twist because he wasn’t answering, and Parrish would either be offended or unnerved or find Ronan’s weakness highly amusing. Added to that, the thought of waiting, uselessly, until Matthew got his ass to Adam’s dorm was infuriating, but Ronan didn’t think he had a choice.

‘Wassat?’ Someone was talking loudly on Matthew’s end, someone who was definitely not a teacher.

‘Go. See. Parrish.’

‘Wha’ for?’ Matthew sounded like he was enjoying himself. Ronan scowled into the phone.

‘Doesn’t matter. Just do it.’

The loud background noise receded slightly, and Matthew’s voice repeated quizzically. ‘Why, though?’

Ronan rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. ‘Just check that he’s there.’ He delivered the address briskly, hoping… _hoping_ that Matthew was paying attention.

‘Aw.’ Matthew said, succinctly summarising all of Ronan’s expectations of humiliation in one sound. ‘You’re worried about him? What’s up?’

‘ _Matthew_.’

‘Okay, ‘kay?’ Matthew’s cheekiness subsided rapidly. Like Opal, like Adam, he responded to Ronan’s emotions better than Ronan did. ‘I can’t go yet. I’ll call Declan.’

‘No-’ Ronan felt his brain reject the idea with so much force that his eyes went wide.

‘Declan’s closer. He might be-’

‘Fuck, Matthew, no-’

‘-free. I’ll text him right now.’

’ _No_.’

Matthew hung up on him. Ronan hissed and whirled on Opal.

‘Look what you did!’ He flicked his arm, intending to throw the phone, and managed to maintain his grip at the last moment, realising that abandoning Parrish to Declan was a terrible idea.

Opal shot him an extremely derisive look. ‘Adam? _Adiuvent eum_?’

‘I’m trying.’ Ronan answered crabbily. ‘I was trying… I… Just… _Fuck_.’

Opal shot him another look, this one oddly reminiscent of one of Parrish’s teeth-grindingly critical ones. Not… no. Not critical. Analytical. Deconstructing.

Ronan forcibly dialled Declan Lynch’s number. With any luck, he could kill this nightmare before it even got started.

‘Ronan.’

‘Declan.’

Ronan had to struggle to keep a sneer off his face. It was muscle memory.

‘I’m driving.’ Declan said, and the fatigue in his voice suggested a similar ingrained irritation.

‘Yeah.’ Ronan imagined throwing the phone at the wall again. ‘Look, Matthew’s gonna-’

‘I know.’ Declan’s voice got more acidic. ‘I’m driving there.’

Ronan felt his fingers spasm automatically towards a fist, nearly crushing the phone to pieces.

 _Oh sweet Jesus_.

‘Forget it.’ He felt the words tear out of his throat before he could compose a cold, unaffected tone. ‘It’s nothing.’

He didn’t want to fight with Declan. Not now. Not now that the long-raw wounds they’d left on each other had the slimmest chance of healing. But he didn’t like the idea of Declan finding Adam on his own. If Declan got his hands on Adam - even if he just got into his space - there was no telling how far he’d go to try and make him leave Ronan for good. And Ronan might have been harbouring a sneaking fear that it wouldn’t take much convincing.

‘I’m nearly there.’ Declan reported, and Ronan heard both a reprimand and a threat in his words.

‘Dec-’

‘Look, I’ll call you when I find something out, Ronan.’ And he hung up.

For the third time that day, Ronan stared at his phone in disbelief. He couldn’t even manage the aborted throwing motion.

Declan knew how Ronan felt about Adam. He might not know what had transpired between the two of them since Ronan’s eighteenth party, but the fact that Ronan would bother calling Matthew to check up on him was bound to piss him off.

 _Declan’s image_ , Ronan told himself, pressing his eyes closed, _is more important than his disgust_.

He wouldn’t hurt Adam. He couldn’t.

And Ronan couldn’t protect Adam, anyway, because he wasn’t allowed. Nobody was ever allowed, except for Adam himself.

Beating in Robert Parrish’s face was one of the best achievements of Ronan’s life, but he had to keep that close to his chest. He tried to be remorseful - he’d forced Adam into leaving, he’d undermined his plans - but he could never really accomplish it. He always wished he’d been able to keep going until he’d taken something from Robert Parrish, something fundamental and valuable, like his hearing, or his eyesight, or something nearly equivalent to the eighteen years of hell he’d made Adam suffer, but he hadn’t had enough time.

The only way Ronan could protect Adam was through tricks… and he hated doing that.

It only took a few minutes for the uncertainty to become unbearable, and Opal was looking at him like she was entirely unimpressed by his efforts. Ronan growled and snatched his keys from the table in the hall, fuming. He didn’t know where Adam was, or if he was even alive. He didn’t know where Declan was, or if Adam would survive if he found him. He didn’t know why Declan hadn’t called back. He had to go.

 

 

 

The drive to D.C. was a haze of loud music and frustrated yelling. Ronan didn’t want to go to the city - he never did - but he needed to find out what was happening. _Damn Gansey for being overseas with Blue and Henry_. Between the two of them, Ronan and Adam were barely the equivalent of one of those three in terms of common sense. Add Declan into the mix, and Ronan’s rationality dropped significantly. Actually, just having Adam involved was likely to render Ronan more irrational than standard.

His phone was inactive all the way into the city, and Ronan didn’t know if he was angry or worried. He just knew he felt… something. And a lot of it. Leaving the safe confines of the BMW seemed like a terrible option, and stepping out into the parking garage under Adam’s dingy dorm building was like transitioning from familiar dream to cold, unpleasant reality. Adam’s room was included in his scholarship, which wasn’t saying much, as it was the size of a shoebox and probably had similar structural integrity. Ronan vaulted up three flights of stairs and pounded furiously on his door. The box was silent. The hall was silent. Ronan’s phone was silent. He twitched and stomped and simmered in the dusty hallway. The feeling was getting worse. Being away from the Barns wasn’t helping anything. He felt wired, destructive, unstable. He needed to go home… just not as badly as he needed to find Adam and stop anything from happening to him.

Ronan couldn’t protect Adam from all the trouble he caused himself, but Ronan surely had a right to protect him from Declan.

He threw himself back down the stairs, calling Matthew. This was the most he’d ever used his phone in one day. This _was_ a nightmare. Matthew cheerfully reported that Declan had been gone all afternoon and he’d only called about ten minutes earlier to say he was coming home. He hadn’t mentioned Parrish. Also, Matthew was hungry, and was Ronan coming over, or what?

Maybe Declan hadn’t found Adam. Maybe he had. Ronan wasn’t sure which was worse. He slammed himself back into the BMW and squealed out of the carpark.

 

 

 

Declan’s apartment was in Woodley Park, probably as far away from Adam’s circumstances as it could get. Ronan had to stop at the gate and irritably get Matthew to buzz him in, and Declan’s slinky Volvo was already taking up a space. Ronan parked in the nearest empty spot he could find, mentally giving the owner the middle finger. Unlike Adam’s building, Declan’s had an escalator at either end, wood panelled and polished. Other occupants hovering in the foyer and waiting for the escalator studiously avoided acknowledging Ronan as he sauntered inside. He was wearing muddy jeans and an overcoat which hung down to his legs, but most likely it was the shaven head and disinterested glare which did the trick. Punching the buttons in the escalator probably also contributed.

Declan would have kittens the minute he realised Ronan had come here dressed like this.

Matthew answered his vicious rattling knock.

‘Hiiiiiiiiii…’

His greeting might have lasted for days. Ronan grabbed his shoulders and pushed him aside.

‘Where’s Declan?’

Matthew grinned widely. ’In the lounge.’

The apartment curved around a small marble foyer. Ronan's sneer returned in response to Declan’s pretension. No man needed a room just for one table with a bust of Pericles upon it… although the choice of Athenian statesman could have been worse. Matthew pointed through an arch directly in front of them, and Ronan strode through.

His brother was sitting on the edge of an ornate card table in front of the sofa. The blinds were closed, casting the side of Declan’s angular face in shadow. He lifted his chin as Ronan entered, and his eyes glittered dangerously. Ronan felt every muscle in his body tense. A conditioned response, maybe, but there was something in the way Declan’s eyes challenged him that set his teeth on edge.

If he’d so much as _threatened_ Adam, Ronan would tear him apart.

Matthew trotted up next to him, still smiling. The darkness in the room tried and failed to engulf the brightness of his teeth.

In the dark, Ronan hadn’t noticed that Declan was sitting in front of something until Matthew’s clumping footsteps disturbed it, and messy fair hair appeared over the back of the leather sofa.

 _Parrish_.

Ronan didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t risk it. He just straightened his back and continued around the end of the sofa.

Adam looked like shit.

He was wearing a shirt and scuffed jeans, with his legs curled under him on the couch. Even in the half-light, an inspection of his face revealed no marks or bruises. He just looked exhausted, and small, and when he turned his eyes to Ronan’s face relief crept across his shuttered expression. He didn’t say anything, either, which was probably good. He wasn’t exactly crumbling apart, but he looked dishevelled and troubled in the way only Adam Parrish could. Distantly, like he was already repressing the new round of trauma even as it occurred.

Ronan glanced between Declan and Adam, feeling tension twist and pull under his skin.

Neither of them moved, even though Ronan could see Declan’s jaw working. Matthew finally broke the silence by wading in between them and loudly re-stating his hunger. Declan sighed. Adam looked down. Ronan glared.

Matthew turned his gleeful grin on Ronan. ‘Declan intimidated some cops today.’

Declan stood suddenly, startling Adam, and motioning at Matthew impetuously. ‘That’s not what happened. Don’t say that.’ He shouldered past Ronan, and pushed Matthew towards the door. ‘Go get some pizza.’

Matthew trotted away again. Declan turned a critical gaze on Ronan, so familiar his body reacted automatically with an eye-roll.

‘You really thought I was going to hurt him.’ Declan observed drily, every word dripping with derision. ‘How many laws did you break to get here this fast?’

Ronan scowled at him, tentatively aware of Parrish’s presence a few feet away. ‘Tried to make it a worthwhile trip.’

‘Yeah, well…’ Declan’s eyes scooted back across to Adam. Ronan recognised the look, even as his brain denied the possibility that he’d seen it. ‘… I hope so. I spent half my afternoon getting Parrish’s ass out of jail.’

Ronan wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It made his insides ache and his brain buzz with anxieties. He settled for resting a half-impressed, half-stunned gaze on the side of Adam’s face. Parrish didn’t look up. He wound his fingers together in his lap and let his shoulders slump forward.

‘You have no idea how much leverage I had to use to get those pricks to turn him over.’ Declan’s face went taut with the effort of not expressing his anger. ‘I swear to God, I’m going to demolish that precinct.’

Ronan still didn’t know how to respond. He looked between Adam’s quiet resignation and Declan’s seething fury a few times. Was it possible…? Couldn’t be. Declan had actually done something… conscientious? Moral? Fucking _nice_?

‘What… _what?_ ’

‘They picked him up wandering through some neighbourhood eight blocks from his building.’ Declan continued, lost to vivid recollections and raw frustration. ‘Insisted he was high, despite clean tests. And thanks to you not picking up your fucking phone, they wouldn’t even let him have a proper goddamn phone call.’

He paused to catch his breath, and looked at Adam again. The same expression crossed his features. Reluctant concern… the expression he’d used on Ronan every time he’d looked at him the first couple months after their father had died. Parrish was practically curled into a ball, now, definitely overhearing the recital of his activities.

‘I don’t know-’ Declan hesitated. ‘- I don’t _want_ to know what kind of shit you two and Gansey Three ended up messing with, but this was a fucking shitfight. I found out from Gansey’s father’s fucking doctor friend that this was the second time this had happened, but it’s not written down _anywhere_. The fucking college should know about this, thickshit. Someone should be _watching_ him-’

‘He’s-’ Understanding was trickling down Ronan’s spine like cold water, but he still lifted a hand defensively. ‘- he’s not a fucking kid. And it wasn’t… it shouldn’t have happened again.’

Declan grabbed the wrist Ronan had extended and lowered his voice, even though the stage whisper was undeniably still audible to Parrish. ‘You didn’t fucking see him, Ro. You should have- _Someone_ should have been there. He couldn’t remember his own goddamn name.’

Ronan felt something in his chest tighten painfully. He wanted to climb over the side of the couch and curl around Parrish until this day was long-forgotten, but instead he stared at Declan and silently wondered when he’d magically turned into a good person.

As if sensing his thoughts, Declan grimaced. ‘Don’t be a dick. I have more important things to worry about then… _that_. And Parrish is practically a good influence on you.’ Ronan made a noise halfway between a scoff and a choke. Declan winced, and venomously mumbled. ‘Better than Kavinsky.’

Adam’s head visibly jerked towards them at the comment, and Ronan half-flinched, disturbed both by the memory of Kavinsky and the idea of Declan thinking Ronan would _ever_ …

Declan hastily changed the topic, explaining that the police hadn’t been able to identify Adam, and he couldn’t remember any phone numbers, so he’d called the most recent number in his contact list. When the three calls had gone unanswered, they’d confiscated his phone. He was disoriented, broken, couldn’t explain what was wrong with him and he couldn’t hear out of his left ear, so they’d tested him for drugs. When that drew a blank, and the situation hadn’t improved, they’d locked him up, citing obstruction. Declan had eventually tracked him down there (God only knew how) and had, in Matthew’s words, lost his shit.

Matthew returned with pizza, and settled onto the couch next to Adam in order to eat it and try and force him to have some. Ronan sat on the table where Declan had been, and watched Adam’s hesitant movements, listening to Matthew and Declan arguing about the details.

‘He bullied them into letting him go.’ Matthew reported eagerly, grinning at Declan’s flushed face.

‘I explained the goddamn law.’ Declan defended sharply. ‘If Parrish hadn’t been in Hicksville it wouldn’t have been a problem. They didn’t have any fucking charges against him, no evidence, nothing. They didn’t even call a fucking doctor.’

At that point his irritation drove him to go find alcohol, and in the silence Matthew had turned on the television and immediately zoned out. Ronan kicked Adam’s ankle gently. Parrish’s jaw twitched around his slice of pizza, and after a moment to compose himself he met Ronan’s gaze steadily.

Ronan didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. _I’m sorry. I should have been there. I’m sorry_. He’d fucked up.

‘I’m sorry.’ Adam beat him to it, voice low and even and heavily accented. ‘I didn’t expect this to happen again.’

 _I should have been there_. ‘Adam.’ He didn’t know what to say.

‘What did happen?’ Matthew interjected sharply, turning curious eyes on them both. ‘Did you get high?’

Declan arrived just in time to hear this question, and quirked an eyebrow. ‘Care to give a fucking explanation, seeing as I’m responsible for getting him out of jail? Is this a real medical condition, or did you fuck around with something you shouldn’t have?’

Adam had finished his pizza, and his head drooped.

‘I thought you were free… from Cabeswater.’ Ronan said carefully, watching him. ‘I thought it was done.’

He didn’t let the feelings of loss creep up inside him again. They’d had this conversation before. Ronan could rebuild a Cabeswater from the power of the ley line, but Adam wouldn’t be peculiarly connected to it. Adam had explained that he was still able to scry, tune in to whatever weird magic the ley line used. He still felt things, in a way he never completely described but left Ronan feeling slightly enraptured by his particular brand of magic. But he wasn’t Cabeswater’s magician anymore. He wasn’t a part of Ronan’s creation.

‘I am.’ Adam answered slowly. He looked directly at Declan. ‘I’ve got… it’s… it’s like a psychic radio in my head. After we- after last year, there shouldn’t have been anything trying to communicate with me. Unless I looked for it.’ He looked back at Ronan. ‘But there was.’

Declan’s expression suggested that he was extremely uncomfortable with this concept. ‘Right. So… this thing possessed you?’

One of Ronan’s hands curled into a fist. ‘What the fuck was it?’

Adam crossed his arms, and uncrossed them again as a wide-eyed Matthew shovelled a large slice of pizza into his hands.

‘It’s not possession, exactly.’ Adam corrected. ‘It’s just that I can’t… really… understand it.’ His voice pitched curiously, and Ronan could tell he was trying to remember what had happened. ‘It’s like… noise. My brain… just shuts down, I guess.’

‘So it’s a ghost?’ Matthew queried brightly.

Ronan kicked his leg.

‘I don’t know.’ Adam confessed miserably. ‘I don’t remember much, except it was loud and it sucked.’ Ronan recognised this as code for _painful_. His other hand curled into a second fist, pressing into the top of his knee to try and channel some of his fury out nonviolently. Adam turned his exhausted eyes on Ronan. ’And it wasn’t Cabeswater. No Latin. No visions. Just noise. And I think…’

His brow furrowed in concentration, he wiped one hand on his jeans compulsively. Declan watched him closely. Matthew paused mid-chew, mesmerised.

‘- whatever it was, it wouldn’t let go. I remember… it was like being pulled underwater.’

 

 

 

Adam fell asleep before they’d finished the pizza. He was curled up on the corner of the couch, and Matthew seemed content to occupy the rest, watching television. Ronan sat with his knee brushing Adam’s leg, and Declan sat in the armchair, drinking scotch and frowning vaguely.

‘What are you going to do?’ Declan asked bluntly, nodding at Adam’s motionless form.

‘Find out what’s causing this, and stop it.’ Ronan answered. He didn’t have the nerve to touch Adam, but he wasn’t sure if it was Declan’s presence or Adam’s lack of consciousness that was putting him off. He felt like his intestines were wrapped around his lungs. His brain was actively rejecting every imagined scenario about what Parrish had been through today… up to and including Declan’s sudden compassion for him.

‘How the fuck do you plan to do that?’

‘Psychics.’ Ronan shrugged casually. He met his brother’s wry gaze and Declan sighed.

‘Of course. Why the fuck not?’ There was a pause. Declan sat forward, rubbed his eyes. ‘Parrish helped get rid of Greenmantle, right?’

Ronan nodded, jaw clenching at the name.

‘And he turned his father in so you wouldn’t get arrested… again?’

‘Yeah.’ He shot Declan a glare which he promptly ignored.

‘And he helped kill the… thing that was trying to kill you… and…’ He tipped his head slightly.

‘Yeah.’ Ronan repeated, guilt rising in his throat like bile. There was a lot of stuff he tried not to think about anymore. Adam’s wretchedness, and the inexpressible fear he’d felt as that thing had undone his insides, and when Gansey had…

Unspeakable.

‘I’ll help you.’ Declan said finally, swirling the dark bronze liquid in his glass. ‘Kill it. Stop it. Whatever. I owe Parrish too.’

Ronan couldn’t summon a coherent thought. Abruptly, Matthew swivelled on the couch. ‘I’ll help too. Adam’s cute.’

Both of the older Lynch brothers stared at him with a combination of shock and horror. Declan turned his look on Ronan accusingly. ‘Is this you?’

Ronan shrugged violently. ’I think the fuck not.’

Matthew laughed and turned back to the television. Declan retreated to his drink. Ronan focused on Parrish.

So… The Lynch brothers had a new mission.

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing against police I felt bad writing this it was just for plot purposes I promise and many apologies. Also, I don't know anything about Washington D.C. except what Google taught me in like two minutes.


End file.
